As the crowd retreated, Foote’s sombrero rolled forward. Chairs folded with claps. One man laughed. Al worked his way to Billy, laughing the whole time as if his friend had participated in a great joke. Clowns joined in as if Joe were fooling. Foote and the entourage from the Hill, Harvey, Gold and the tourists from Santa Fe started laughing anxiously because they wanted to believe it was a staged performance and the huge clown was nothing to be afraid of. Anna Weiss didn’t smile. She hadn’t stepped back. She watched Joe as if a giant had stepped out of the blue sky.

The drummer never missed a beat. The circle went on turning.

Afterwards, men who were clowns washed in the river a couple of miles outside Santiago. Since he wasn’t really a clown, Joe washed alone where cottonwood logs and sand had stopped up a pool. Thimbleberries with papery white buds grew thickly down to both shores. Slowly, black paint yielded to oatmeal soap and a yucca brush.

The sun was dazzling on the surface of the Rio. It took him a while to realize he was not alone, to see Anna watching from the smooth flank of a log that rose out of the sand.

16

In unit 20 at the Cordoba Motel, daylight was a hot white edge around the window blinds.

She twisted and spread herself, and as she settled into him, he put his hands on her hips and helped her down. Widening, her eyes never left his. Despite the drawn shades, she glowed, as if inner-lit. Yet her eyes were luminously dark, her hair was dark, the tips of her white breasts were dark. Deep inside her, he still rose. As if he had stepped off a high building a long time ago and only now was hitting ground. Falling and rising at the same time.

“I’ve never made love with a giant before.”

He turned her on her back and drove deeper. Perspiration shone between her breasts. As she wrapped her legs around him the bed groaned. She pulled him in with her hands until he was lifting her high with each stroke.

Her shoes and fedora were by the door, where she’d dropped them as soon as she came in. Her jumpsuit was sprawled on the floor. His uniform lay over a chair.

Outside, the afternoon dimmed. Inside, a pearly grayness crept along the walls. The room was decorated with photographs of the Alhambra. The pictures trembled as he held her against a wall so that her toes barely touched the floor. The whole wall trembled, like a vertical sheet.

She was weightless and strong. She seemed to ride him, to be on all sides of him, to swallow him and be swallowed at the same time.

When they moved away, the wall bore the damp imprint of her back and his hands.